I have never actually blown a goat or had sex of any kind with one1, but I still think, based on my experience in this 5-mile trail race, that the basic trail-running experience must be comparable in unpleasantness to sucking Big Hairy Goat Balls. That's the nature of trail runs, which, of course, necessarily means that trail runners — people who intentionally run trail races repeatedly — must just love sucking Big Hairy Goat Balls.
But on to the race report.
Okay, originally, Teh 'Bride, Ian and I were supposed to go to the Poconos this weekend to visit with Teh 'Bro and Teh S-i-L, but that fell through; and the YS librarian at one of the branches (she's also a runner and tri-athlete) told me about this 5-mile race that she was running and asked if I intended to run it. I was like, No, can't, gotta go up teh 'nos (as it were). But when the plans to go up teh 'nos fell through2, I signed up.
The race was being held on the premises of this recently preserved farm — SCORE! More green acres for us here in mid-Joisey! — and it consisted of a "trail" most of which didn't exist until it was mowed expressly for the purpose of having this 5-mile race. Parking for the run was way back in town, at the local elementary school, which is in fact right next to the farm, but the start/finish line was a good 1-mile hike away because it's a BIG FUCKING FARM.
They did have a shuttle to drive you there, if you chose, but I figured Pfffttt! Pussies! I prefer to see what the course will be like — since the walk was along part of the race course3.
And what I saw was that it was potential-sprained-ankle-city4 out there because the terrain was all uneven and rutted and nothing had gone over it, other than the occasional tractor, in like decades. And the fucking tractors had left some nasty, crusty, hard-edged ruts, just perfect for rolling an ankle. Well, fuck me like a goat, I thought to myself, which is good, because if I'd said it out loud, I'm pretty sure there would have been plenty of Experienced Trail Runners willing to oblige me.
But I kept that in mind for the race — I mean the ankle-rolling thing, not the goat-fucking I could have been on the receiving end of — and decided I would just take it easy in this race because, it being my first ever 5-miler, I was guaranteed a PR as long as I finished. And the only way I wouldn't was if I was stupid and got myself hurt or if I ran into really, really, really horny goat5.
And so I just ran the race at what I thought was a nice-and-easy pace. I thought, Ya know, I'd be happy with 10-minute miles under these goat-fornicating circumstances; and that was really all I was shooting for. Because, weirdly enough, the organizers decided, for reasons I still can't fathom, to start this race at 11, which is bad enough; but they actually didn't start it till like 10 past, and so it had already gotten hot and humid and the day continued to gain in heat and humidity throughout the race. Weather-wise, it would have been a very comfortable race if it had started an hour or, preferably, an hour-and-a half, earlier — it should have been ending at 11, not beginning.
But this was the first year they had this race, so they're still learning. That'd be the only thing I would have them change for next year.
So the course itself consisted of a couple of loops that brought you past the start area at the 1 mile and then roughly the 3-and-a-quarter-mile mark; these miles were through the uneven-terrained farm fields. Then, the course took you into a woods, with a real honest-to-Jebus one lane trail where you couldn't pass anyone even if you had the energy to at this point, which was unlikely, because, even though it was way cooler in the woods, the trail just seemed to go up and up and up; plus there were downed trees (up to my mid-thigh, and I'm 6'5" tall, and, lucky for you readers, also a proper gentleman, and so I chose to say "mid-thigh" instead of "to the place on my leg that my dangler typically dangles down to" and am I turning you on ladies?) to climb over and creek beds to run through (mostly dry, but inevitably involving a steep and treacherous decline followed immediately by an equally steep and treacherous incline) ... and like that.
But I did manage to pass someone in the woods — a young lady whose heels I was chopping on for about a mile or so; and, after a particularly steep climb, followed by a downed tree to clamber over, she decided to take a walk break and graciously moved to the side so that I could pass her. Less than 2-tenths of a mile later, I took my first and only walk break — for roughly a minute — because I was out of breath because the woods trail just seemed to go eternally UP and I just gave up the ghost, less than a mile from the finish6.
This was my one technical regret of the race7 — I should have bulled my way through because as it turned out, it wasn't that much further till the inevitable trail decline that eventually brought us all out of the woods and into the home stretch. Of course, in this part of the woods trail, I managed to wander off-trail twice, but never far enough off that I lost sight of the intended trail. I quickly righted myself, but not before being passed by a dude, to whom I said, over my shoulder, while he was still behind me, "Hey man, don't follow me! I have no goat-fucking idea where I'm going." He said, "You're taking the scenic route", which I appreciated, because if I were in his shoes, I'd've said, "You're a fucktard, aren't you?"
Anyroad, I finished with a time of 48:38, which by my calculation is a 9:41 pace and a 6.2 mph average.
And now here's my proof that I ran a trail race:
I learned later form Gabrielle, the YS librarian, that the course is actually longer than 5 miles, but I have no idea how much longer. I managed to get a video of Gabrielle as she crossed the finish line and I told her I wouldn't show it to anyone but since she doesn't know about this blog, she'll never know, so EAT IT, Gabrielle! Also, most of this video is of my fingers as they fucktardedly tried to stop the video from filming:
After this race, I felt like I had been 's@ck-tapped, so I'm including this:
1 I'm not including my college years because, hey, be honest, we all "experimented" in college, and anyway my major was animal husbandry (until they caught me at it), but my real point is that that goat was dressed provocatively and was basically asking for it and was just mad because I didn't call the next day. And then it's all, "Oooo! My hairy goat balls have been violated!"
We've all been there, right?
2 Let that be a lesson to you, kids: Stay off drugs! And mountains.
3 Plus, I thought I might also spot a few experienced trail runners blowing goats in the fields on the way to the starting line because, as we've already established above, they enjoy doing that. I had my non-boob-sweated-on iPod nano with me, so I was all set to take videos, but if any goat-blowing was going on, I managed to miss it.
At this point I might as well mention that you probably think it's difficult to get a goat to agree to let you blow it because all they ever seem to say is "Naaaahhhhh!", which pretty much sounds like a "No" to me, Mister Date-Rapist-to-Be. The trick is to ask, "Would you prefer that I not blow you, Mister Goat?" and when he sez "Naaaahhhhh!" you're good to go.
Or so Experienced Trail Runners tell me.
4 Actually, country.
5 Because, afterwards, I like to cuddle a little and then just go to sleep.
6 O, sure, I still have my good looks. But what self-respecting goat would let me blow him now?
7 Well, that ... and not blowing a goat.